


As Luck Would Have It

by strawberrykait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is desperate to succeed with his task to kill Professor Dumbledore and finish the Vanishing cabinet. Since he can’t seem to follow through with killing the old man, he’ll need all the luck in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiHnn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/gifts).



> _Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. All fics posted at this community were written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended._
> 
> Written for the Dramione_Duet Round 3 2011
> 
> AU from midway through HBP. I hope that the recipient is pleased with this! I tried to incorporate as many of the kinks as possible, and chose the first prompt, with a _slightly different_ interpretation, perhaps. It was rather hard to convey this story in eight thousand words or less, so there are two versions available. I want to thank **jeng** and **mccargi** from the bottom of my heart for betaing for me again! I take responsibility for any/all mistakes.

Hermione Granger had the most rotten luck. As a Gryffindor prefect, she was required to patrol the hallways of Hogwarts with a prefect from another House. As fate would have it, her patrolling partner was the one student she absolutely could not stand.

She paced outside the clock tower, waiting on Draco Malfoy to appear. This was the third time they’d been paired together and he was a no-show again. Honestly, she ought to report him. Dumbledore insisted that since Voldemort’s return, prefect duties had to be doubled up for the students’ protection, but when half the team failed to show, what was the point?

She huffed and then set off without him. Something really needed to be done about his truancy.

An hour later, she met him down a dark corridor on the seventh floor. “Malfoy! Where have you been?”

“Give it a rest, you swot,” he muttered, sidling next to her. She was in an awful snit, and his night so far had been dreadful enough without her reprimand. “I’m here now. Let’s get on with it.” And with that, he walked ahead, leaving a slack-jawed Granger behind.

She immediately caught up. He could see the tension in her walk, in the sharp swing of her arms, but thankfully her mouth remained shut. They walked along silently, and sometimes Granger would step into classrooms for a cursory inspection, much to his irritation.

As expected, no one was about at this hour. It was a complete waste of his precious time, and he blamed her almost entirely. Part of him raged that he had better things to do than promenade with Hermione bloody Granger all night, while another part desperately hoped the distraction would bring inspiration. Things were not going according to plan. With an exaggerated sigh, he passed the girl, intent on getting finished and into bed.

Hermione noticed something strange after a moment. The stone floors of Hogwarts were comprised of large squares of masonry and had survived thousands of students’ reckless behavior and above average wear and tear through the centuries, leaving many with cracks in the stone. This wasn’t something she could honestly say she’d ever noticed before, that was until Malfoy deliberately stepped over the cracked areas.

She blinked in surprise.

 _No, he couldn’t be._ Hermione smirked as he did it again, this time taking an inordinately long step. A gurgle of laughter welled up, threatening to spill over her lips. Hermione clutched her mouth and nose, barely containing her glee. Malfoy was superstitious? Her eyes boggled. It wouldn’t do for Malfoy to hear her laughing, so she quickly caught up with him, and her evening unexpectedly turned entertaining.

The cracks were few and far between, unfortunately. She decided to throw caution to the wind. “Tell me, Malfoy, how is your mother these days?”

His step faltered, and she covered her snort with an indelicate cough. Hermione blinked innocently at his sneer. Really, she didn’t expect an answer; she just couldn’t help herself. After only a few seconds of glaring, she took the lead, heading down the stairs to the next floor at a jaunt. Behind her, she could hear his plodding steps. He ought to be thanking her for starting without him. Within an hour, she’d managed to complete nearly a third of their patrol, and now they had only an hour or so left.

A devious idea came to her.

Her steps began to gradually slow, and she noticed immediately that his did as well. Step by step, her pace decreased until she was practically relying on gravity to take her down, while Malfoy stayed behind her.

“Whoo, these stairs,” she said, dragging her hand along the railing. “I must be more tired than I thought. You can go on around me. I wouldn’t want to slow you down.” She waited, anticipating his response.

Regrettably, it was nonverbal. Malfoy completely stopped behind her as she moseyed around the landing to the next flight of stairs. At the turn, she saw the evil glare he was sending her. She feigned indifference, but inside she was nearly howling. It was absolutely ridiculous, his level of superstition. Did he really think passing her on the stairs would warrant bad luck?

He watched her smirk, and Malfoy’s glare turned insidious. Who had he offended so terribly that he had to endure the obnoxious Gryffindor’s mockery? “Let’s get this over and done with, Granger, shall we? Unlike some, I have a life that I’d like to resume before I’m old.”

“Did you see that?”

Draco jerked his head in the direction she was looking. It was probably nothing whatsoever, but still… “What? I don’t see anything.”

Granger hummed. “Oh, I thought I saw a black cat running _away_ from over here.” She nodded her chin, and he could hear the laughter in her voice. “Must be my imagination,” she snickered. Her hand rose to cover her mouth. Malfoy stayed behind her, silently urging her to fall down the last few steps before he was forced to shove her.

Once they reached the landing, he marched around her and quickly patrolled the floor, all the while hearing her giggles echo down the corridor towards him, burning his ears. _Damned uppity Mudblood bitch, where does she get off mocking me? She’s not even worthy of attending this school. If Father were here…_

His thoughts turned sour, thinking about his father, who currently was rotting away at Azkaban. Thanks to that bitch and her bloody, good for nothing cohorts. It was their fault he was forced to live this way. Their fault Father was imprisoned, why his life was completely forfeit. He unconsciously rubbed his arm, feeling the anxiety worm its way back into his tired brain. It was just too much, and definitely too much when added with Granger’s ridicule.

As quickly as possible, Draco finished their patrol, several metres ahead of her still, and made a near dash down to the dungeons without another word.

Hermione stood at the stairs, watching his hasty escape, thinking it served him right for being irresponsible. She stifled a yawn, and slowly began her trudge back up to her dormitory, still smiling when she remembered his exaggerated stride.

+++

“Now, ladies and gentleman,” began Professor McGonagall as she addressed her Sixth Year Transfiguration students on the following Friday, “Today we are going to attempt to transfigure humans, namely ourselves.”

The classroom was rumbling with a blend of groans and _oohs_ as they watched their Professor charm oval table mirrors to march and alight upon the desks before them, one mirror for each student. Two Slytherin boys near the back of the room began to snicker as they bounced hexes off the glass towards three Gryffindor girls across the room. McGonagall did not let on that she could see the pair of pranksters, but somehow their mirrors suddenly spun about, knocking both boys under their chins and effectively stopping their foolishness. A few giggles escaped but they were hidden behind hands.

When the room’s attention returned to the professor, she continued with their instructions.

None of the commotion, as funny as it was, seemed to reach Draco, who sat in the farthest corner alone, not quite listening.

Slowly, the students practiced the spell that would alter their own features, without wands, of course, until McGonagall was sufficiently pleased and then called upon one at a time to demonstrate. Lavender went first, grudgingly releasing Ron’s hand she held beneath the desktop. Taking a deep breath, she stumbled over the incantation, her wand aimed directly at her reflection. Suddenly her pert little nose tripled in size and hairy warts began to sprout off the end. McGonagall rolled her eyes, and moved down to the next student.

Ron’s attempt was almost as humorous, as instead of turning his ginger eyebrows into a different shade, he instantly grew an enormous black handlebar mustache. Nearly everybody laughed, but he turned sharply at Hermione when she laughed, glaring at her with so much hate. Hermione wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of shutting her up, however.

McGonagall half-heartedly encouraged the couple’s continued efforts while she moved on to the next student. Lavender attempted to console Ron, gently petting his mustache with one hand while covering her tremendous nose with the other. Her voice had deepened with the transfiguration, and the end of each sentence she practically honked, which set her off wibbling. On the other side of Ron sat Harry, who was doing a very good impression of being invisible.

Hermione ignored Ron as she took her turn. The class watched as she perfectly performed the incantation, turning her light brown eyebrows a natural shade of blonde. McGonagall awarded her five House points for her efforts, and Hermione smiled.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Everything she did turned out perfectly. It was incredibly unfair. There she sat, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, so full of herself, the damn Mudblood. The task set before him by the Dark Lord pressed heavily on his heart, weighing him down to the point that everything seemed hopeless. The cabinet refused to be mended, despite his never-ending efforts. He’d failed his other mission once already. That girl was laid up in St. Mungo’s, as far as Draco and the rest of the school knew. Or she could be dead by now.

Draco was sick to his stomach. His hands began to shake beneath his desk. He was destined to fail, and his parents would die for it. Draco wished he was dead.

“Mister Malfoy?”

He turned to face Professor McGonagall, who apparently had called his name more than once and now stood expectantly before him, one eyebrow raised in question. Frantically, he clutched his wand and tried to focus.

His first attempt never made it past his lips. He could hear the snickers of his classmates, and he turned to glare at them. That was when he caught Hermione’s eye. She wasn’t laughing like the others, but watching him, waiting to see. There was something weird with the look she gave him, something he couldn’t quite place.

“Mister Malfoy, do try again,” said Professor McGonagall.

Draco cleared his throat and tried. His shaking wand came down too sharply and the mirror shattered beneath his spell. He fell back from the falling shards, his eyes wide and terrified. More students laughed openly, including Ron and Harry. Draco was splayed on the floor, breathing heavily.

He was cursed, no doubt about it.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione repaired the broken mirror from across the room. Draco caught her wide-eyed stare and neither could move.

Professor McGonagall’s head bounced between the pair, her mouth hanging open in surprise. At last, she pursed her lips and said, “Mister Malfoy, you will see me after class.”

He couldn’t take anymore. Draco clambered to his feet and ran.

Hermione watched him run away, as his supposed friends laughed at his expense. Her eyes caught Ron and Lavender, and her heart dropped. She wondered if she understood Draco better than she thought. Professor McGonagall continued giving each student a chance to perform the new lesson, some with success, most without. She could see Ron as he eyed his new mustache with near satisfaction, and she couldn’t help but laugh again. Unfortunately, he noticed. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

Ronald Weasley had absolutely no right whatsoever to give her such a hateful look. He was perfectly within his right to date whomever he wanted. As was she. Hermione stuck her nose up a bit to counter her desire to sink down into her seat. At least Harry was still on her side. She glanced his way only to find him staring after Malfoy.

Professor McGonagall continued to speak as she made her way around to each student. When she next asked a question, Ron threw his hand up high in the air, bouncing in his seat silently. Hermione flushed as those who saw laughed at his mimicry of her. She caught the eyes of Lavender and Parvati, her roommates, bent low, laughing into their cupped hands. Some friends, she thought, as she desperately held back her tears.

Not a moment later, the bell went off and so did she, marching out and down the corridor. As she turned a corner, she full out ran away. She heard her name called as she passed a few students just before she shoved open the girl’s bathroom door. Hermione shut herself up in a stall and let it all out.

Honestly, Ronald can be so immature at times. For weeks and weeks, he’d done nothing but instigate her, flaunting that floozy about in the common room. It was better when he ignored her. Almost. She knew she shouldn’t let this bother her so much, but damn if it didn’t. She took the higher ground, pretending to be oblivious to it all. He was supposed to be her best friend, not a cruel … _boy_!

Hermione sniffed, wiping her nose, and then she thought she heard someone else in the loo. Panic set in for a moment as she imagined the gamut of possible embarrassments she would be subjected to, should the wrong person find her blubbering in the toilet.

“Hermione?”

She jumped at the gentle knock upon her stall door. After a deep breath, she reluctantly opened it. Luna stood serenely before her, a small smile on her face. Hermione exhaled in relief.

“Hello, Hermione. You don’t look well at all,” she said, blinking. Hermione laughed once, wiping beneath her eyes as she stepped out of the stall. She walked over to the nearest sink, filled the basin and washed her face. Luna stood a few steps behind, watching her still. It was unnerving, but somehow comforting in a strange way. Luna’s always unusual, but at least she’s not having a go at me, Hermione thought as she blotted her face dry.

“Is there something the matter?”

“No,” Hermione said, “Not really. It’s just Ron…” she flushed at the memory, not wishing to relive the insult so soon. Fortunately, with Luna she didn’t have to.

A small noise came from the stalls again and this time both girls turned to see. The bathroom door opened on the opposite side and Harry came through, carrying half of Hermione’s things she’d forgotten in class. She blushed again with embarrassment, but thanked him all the same. Really, she needed to be alone for a while, and perhaps the library would be a better place than the loo. She quietly excused herself.

Draco held his breath. For a moment there, he was certain those girls would find him hiding like a coward in the girl’s bathroom. He’d panicked in Transfiguration and made a mad dash. In his haste, he believed this was his bathroom, the one no one ever visited except that ghost girl. It was all right to let go in front of her; she was a ghost, for Merlin’s sake!

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when his foot slipped off the seat. Certain he’d been caught, he’d never been happier to hear the most annoying voice in the world. Although he was rather puzzled why _he_ would come in there, he supposed The Boy Who Lived could visit any place he wanted. The longer Loony and Potty stood and chatted, his fear turned to annoyance. When the buggering hell would they leave? His impatience was growing nearly out of control when he heard Potty ask that little weirdo to Slughorn’s party.

An idea came to him then. For the first time in weeks, Draco smiled.

+++

“This might be the biggest mistake of my life,” Hermione muttered under her breath as she walked away from the Great Hall. She could admit to herself, at least, that asking Cormac McLaggen was a low blow. It was hasty and childish, to be sure, but she’d be damned if she’d let Ron think he was still going with her. She remembered his strange blank look just before she walked away, and her heart sank. She forced a laugh. Silly to think he’d be hurt, as he was surely planning a long snogging session before the fire in the Gryffindor common room on this last night before the Christmas break.

Hermione was so distracted by her own misgivings, she walked directly past Draco Malfoy without notice. However, he noticed her.

 _“Petrificus Totalus! ”_

Hermione had just enough time to panic before she fell like a stone. Within her line of sight, Malfoy appeared. He levitated her out of the pathway, into an empty classroom and followed close behind, shutting them in. With his wand aimed directly at her, he rummaged through her robes with the other hand until he retrieved her wand.

Now she was afraid.

“Granger, I’m going to release you,” he said quietly. If her eyes could have rolled, they would have. “After you answer a question, of course.”

Because she was completely immobilized, she had to wait until he seemed satisfied enough. _“Finite Incantatem.”_

In an instant, she was up, but she said nothing. Draco watched her for several seconds, waiting. Just as he’d hoped, she was curious enough to listen first, and hex afterwards. Not willing to test her patience, his question rushed out on a breath.

“Why did you repair that mirror today?”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“When my mirror broke,” he explained as though speaking to a small child, “You immediately repaired it. Why would you do that?”

She started to smirk, recalling their last patrol, but ceased when she saw he was completely serious. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of the bad luck,” he practically shouted. Hermione took a small step back, which regretfully put her further from the exit. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m not accustomed to,” Draco swallowed, “asking anybody for anything – especially not someone like you,” he sneered. “But if you have it… give it to me.”

Hermione frowned. What was funny just days ago was quickly proving to be far from it. Something was definitely not right, well beyond mere superstitious belief. “That’s not asking me for something, that’s—”

“Give me the Felix Felicis!” he yelled over her, taking two steps towards her, his fist clenching around his wand.

“What? What are you… I don’t…” Granger shook her head, trailing off and looking quite confused.

Draco winced. It was all wrong, and now he’d only made it worse. Desperation was setting in. “Can you get it?”

“Get what, the Felix Felicis?”

He closed his eyes, and said on a huff, “Yes, of course.” _You stupid Mudblood_ , he added to himself. She was rather dense, to be so supposedly brilliant. “From Potter – the Felix – can you get it?”

“Why?”

Unbe _lieve_ ably dense.

“Because I want it.”

“That’s no reason-”

“Because I need it, then,” he insisted, his wand hand shaking. Why did she have to be so bloody infuriating? She obviously had no sense of self preservation, or this would have been simple and done. Draco deflated. This wasn’t working. She didn’t have it and wasn’t likely to get it, and definitely would report him. Why did he always have to fail so spectacularly?

“Malfoy, what’s going on?” she asked quietly.

For a moment, he felt like crying again. No, that _definitely_ won’t do. His resolve returned and his wand extended, forcing her to scurry back against the far wall as he advanced. “You will get that potion and bring it to me tonight,” he insisted with a grimace. “If you tell anybody about this, you’ll regret it, Mudblood.”

She had the audacity to glare at him, but surprisingly said nothing. He lifted her wand and tossed it across the room, watching her watch its descent.

“Tonight, Granger,” he said before rushing from the room.

+++

Draco spent the better part of the afternoon tiredly working on the Vanishing cabinet. Inspiration came to him as he left Granger, and rather than heading back to the dungeons, he ventured up to the Room of Hidden Things. At first he seemed to make progress, but ultimately he was left worse off than before.

His mind returned to Granger, thinking about all the times she and that bastard Potter had bested him. Definitely not something that would serve to relax him, Draco was overwhelmed by his frustrations. He rubbed his face harshly, wiping away the evidence of his weakness. Wouldn’t Father be ashamed?

With a terrible growl, he flung his wand wide and several towers of junk rumbled and exploded high into the ceiling, sending a cascade of fluttering, charred paper and random blackened bits down upon him and the damned cabinet. There had to be something, some way he could make this work.

If the Mudblood gave him the Felix…

She claimed she didn’t have it, which was probably true. As much as he detested her, and all Gryffindors for that matter, she wasn’t known to be a liar. He had to have that liquid luck or else he would surely die.

He looked down at his hand, watching it tremble in the pale light. He tried to flex it away.

+++

Slughorn’s Christmas party was rather extravagant. His study seemed quite larger than most Hogwarts professor’s rooms, and Hermione wasn’t certain he’d enchanted it to be so for this special occasion or if it simply was larger. Everything was festive and inviting. If only she could fully enjoy her evening.

She rushed over to Harry and Luna, who was dressed in flashy silver robes. Despite Luna’s typical sense of fashion, she was quite fetching and appeared almost normal. Hermione huffed out her breath in relief at having escaped Cormac and his tentacles. Harry had very little sympathy for her, and she couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, she likely would have been harsher in his shoes. But still, whose side was he on, anyway?

They were clustered near Professor Trelawney, who had engaged Luna in a ridiculous discussion. For a moment, she considered mentioning to Harry her encounter with Malfoy earlier that afternoon, but thought better of it. Lately, he’d been almost obsessed with Malfoy’s every move, ever since seeing him with his mother in Knockturn Alley, and always muttering about how evil he was. Hermione was beginning to agree with Harry, but if she were to tell him what he’d done to her, what he demanded of her, as absurd as it was, Harry would completely lose it. Besides, she sniffed, why should she tell him anything, especially since he was taking Ron’s side now?

Hermione spotted Cormac making his way towards them and quickly excused herself, disappearing easily into the crowd. She was seldom wrong, but when she was, Hermione readily admitted it: Cormac was a bad choice and she most definitely was paying for it. As she crept her way around the outskirts of the party, she heard a scuffle near the center of the room.

Filch was grasping Draco Malfoy and presenting him to Professor Slughorn like a caught thief. Everybody in the room stood to watch and listen as Malfoy confessed to gate crashing. Hermione was still angry for being so rudely accosted, but seeing him again, she noticed changes in his appearance. He was haggard, his hair mussed, and he had more than a dusting of facial hair across his jaw. His face seemed thinner, too. Hermione frowned at her assessment. What was going on with Draco Malfoy?

She wasn’t the only one amazed when Slughorn invited him to stay and enjoy himself, nor was she alone in her disgust of his immediate smarmy arse-kissing that followed. Her mouth was twisting at the performance when Malfoy caught her eye. She froze. It was as if he already knew where she was in the room, as if he had come for her. Hermione swallowed new panic when he smirked.

Whatever scheme he had in mind, she was determined to not get involved, and so she backed up between three elderly wizards who were arguing about two Quidditch teams, and started for the door. Harry and Luna would understand; she didn’t care what Cormac thought about anything. Several friends reached out to touch her, telling her how pretty she looked, while others attempted to pull her into various conversations. Politely, if hurriedly, she thanked them and shuffled on, every inch getting her closer to the door.

Twice she had to change directions when Cormac entered her trajectory, costing her precious time. Despite what she would have believed, keeping an eye on Malfoy was more difficult. Frantically, she scanned the room, looking for either a flash of white-blond hair or a towering egomaniac. When a waiter passed her by, Hermione quickly grabbed a drink, hoping to not only hide behind the glass, but to also avoid unwanted conversations with it.

After what seemed like an eternity, the exit was within reach. Tossing the drink into a potted plant, Hermione practically skipped through the door. She’d made it.

Almost, anyway.

Her hand was grasped from behind, effectively stopping her escape. She turned, ready with a story about a headache, only to find icy grey eyes staring down at her. His hand was clammy, yet she felt a charge run up her arm. Her breath caught and she couldn’t move or even look away. Around her, the noises of the party vanished, leaving her drumming heart as the only sound.

Hermione looked at Draco, really looked at him as though for the first time. He was as pale and pointy as she remembered, but there was something haunted about him now. His almost colorless irises were made all the brighter by the shadows surrounding his eyes and his cheeks were rather hollow. This close to him, she could see a grayish tint to his skin, too.

Draco continued to stare down at her, holding her hand. She stared at his mouth. It was simply closed, not smirking or sneering at her, and she was drawn to its softness. It was a rather full mouth, she thought, and she could see patches where he’d apparently bitten the skin off, just like she did when she was bothered.

Hermione had an urge to lick the reddened bits, and so she licked her own without thinking. He watched her, and his forehead crinkled when his eyebrows rose in response. She flushed and pulled her hand back. The loss was quite noticeable. In a blink, she freed herself, shaking her head slowly just as she finally left the party.

Draco’s hand clenched in her absence. For a moment, he considered following her, but she didn’t have the potion. In fact, he doubted she’d ever had it. He glanced down at his hand, turning it over for inspection.

“I’d like a word with you, Draco.” Professor Snape stood over him, and he knew his time here was spent.

+++

The morning following Slughorn’s Christmas do, Hermione was saying goodbye to Harry in the Great Hall. It had been arranged with Dumbledore and the Order that he should spend the holiday with the Weasley family. Originally, it was to be the three of them leaving on the Hogwarts train, but things had changed.

Harry stood there awkwardly, eyeing Ron and his leech of a girlfriend beyond the doors of the Hall, while Hermione stood silently next to him. She knew it was hard for Harry to be between them like this, but this was what Ron wanted. It was completely his doing, and she had nothing to apologize for. Except she did feel right awful, sometimes. Like her stunt with Cormac last night. Yes, she had a moment’s satisfaction at his response in front of the others, but really she only punished herself. Besides, come the morning, he was still with that bimbo, and she was still absent a friend.

She reached down to take Harry’s hand, and he turned to look at her with a ghost of a smile. Hermione wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t.

“Are you sure you won’t come with us, then?”

“No, that’s all right,” she said quietly, pressing her lips together tightly. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be able to get a head start studying my N.E.W.T.s over the break.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “That’s over a year off.”

“Yes, and?” They both laughed. Harry dropped her hand only to wrap both arms around her. It felt so good to be held.

“Well, Happy Christmas, I guess. Won’t be the same without you there,” he whispered.

Hermione felt her eyes heating up and her chin trembling and fought it off, squeezing Harry tighter as she buried her nose in his collar. After a moment more, the two best friends released each other. Hermione walked with him out to the courtyard, waving as he followed Ron and Lavender at a distance down to the train.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione cast a warming charm about herself. Outside, the courtyard was blindingly white with deep, hard-packed snow, while more drifted steadily down all around. Most of the students had already trekked their way down to the train, leaving a few stragglers, like Ron and Harry, to bring up the rear. The tears threatened to fall again when Harry finally disappeared from view.

Hermione wiped her eyes, admonishing herself for being so ridiculous. It was only two weeks, not the end of the world! A prim voice in her head reasoned that her emotional outburst was due to the impending holidays and that she would be practically alone during them. Pull yourself together, she scolded. Of course there will be others staying over for Christmas. Perhaps not any close friends, but it was only two weeks. She wouldn’t be alone.

She wasn’t alone.

Hermione felt a chill run down her arms that had nothing to do with the snow. Quickly, she shut the imposing doors behind her, heard them lock, while she searched the entrance hall. Nothing seemed out of place, but she felt ill at ease. She eyed the marble staircase, the busy occupants of the many paintings covering the extensive walls, but found nothing exceptional. Brushing the feeling of dread off as little more than distress, Hermione began the long trek up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room with the intention of staring sightlessly into the fire for some time. She did, of course, have two weeks to complete her proposed task, but for now, she needed to do nothing. Suddenly, she was tired.

Draco took two silent steps further into the shadow of the decorated Christmas tree within the entrance hall. It wouldn’t do for Granger to find him lurking. He watched her shield a yawn. Draco couldn’t remember the last full night of sleep he’d had. After Snape’s little encouraging speech last night, he’d spent the rest of the evening back in the Room of Hidden Things, occasionally working on the cabinet, but mostly thinking. Thinking about _her_.

He’d had an epiphany early that morning. Granger didn’t need Liquid Luck; she was already lucky. Draco had never felt so daft before. It explained everything -- _everything_ concerning the swot: how she was friends with Potty, how she always seemed to know _everything_ , why she didn’t die in second year with the Basilisk, not to mention how she survived those Death Eater attacks at the World Cup and the Ministry and countless other stories he’d heard from his fellow students, as well as from his father.

She was naturally lucky.

It had to be something in her blood, he decided. Obviously, she wasn’t a veela; she was too plain for that. And her unusual natural luck must have also made her smarter somehow, which was a small comfort to him. All this time, she’d been skating along in the wizarding world with essentially Liquid Luck running through her veins. But what puzzled him now was how to get it from her.

Since he wasn’t going home this year for Christmas break, Draco decided he would spend some time that morning in the library, researching his notion. Hours into several unbearably dull and difficult to decipher tomes, he’d found nothing to match his supposition. He’d dispelled the idea that all Mudbloods must be lucky – if that were true, somebody would know, his father especially. But he couldn’t find anything to oppose the idea that the luck was in her blood either.

When he considered how to get her blood, a ghastly vision of dragging her into the dungeons, bound and gagged, and slicing her wrists open as he waited for the luck to spill out on the floor like golden sunshine sprang to mind. He was damn near sick. No, that was insane. Obviously, Potter and the Weasel never bled Granger out, so that didn’t add up. Draco deflated. How was he possibly going to kill the old man if he couldn’t even stand imagining cutting Granger?

He simply couldn’t think about that now – that would come later, after he had her luck.

Having not slept at all the night before, he came up for a break and a bite. However, his plans were temporarily halted when he saw _her_ with Potter. A sick sensation overtook him as they embraced. _Really, some of us ought to be spared from such…_

And then it came to him. _Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? Physical contact – that’s how she shares her luck! Somehow it’s transferred through the skin, through touching._ A lightness began in his chest. Everything would be all right now. He would finish the Vanishing cabinet. The rest of his mission, well that would work out too, of course. He just needed to have Granger share her luck with him.

A weight fell in the bottom of his belly. Because surely, _obviously_ , she would bestow such a gift to him, the biggest bully at Hogwarts. Draco cursed. Perhaps it didn’t have to be willingly. Perhaps if he could just…touch her…somehow…

He groaned, drawing unwanted attention from others heading into the Great Hall. He ignored the passersby, turning back to Granger in time to see the pair parting. He was filled with resentment.

How _dare_ Potter touch her? Didn’t he have enough fortune without taking Draco’s? It took an inordinate amount of restraint for Draco to not demand that he release his Mudblood. The realization that he was considering Hermione Granger _his_ was quite appalling and sufficient enough to erase all desire to eat.

The two separated, heading toward the courtyard. Draco hesitantly stepped closer. He was absolutely certain now, even if he didn’t understand how it worked. There was something lucky about Granger and he’d be damned if he didn’t learn how to make the most of it.

+++

Christmas was approaching quickly. Hermione had finished wrapping her gifts for Harry, Ginny, and Ron and set them aside. Outside the Gryffindor common room windows she could see fresh snowflakes drifting down, settling onto the ledge, and blurring everything more than a dozen inches beyond. It made her sleepy, and somehow even lonelier than before. She wished she was spending Christmas with her parents. Despite the tension between her and Ron, she had still held onto the hope that he would invite her at the last minute. Although Harry had done so, as had Ginny more than once, unless Ron asked her, it would be too awkward. And because she hadn’t told her parents about the possibility of not going to the Weasley’s, they had gone on a holiday, just the two of them.

She missed her parents dreadfully. Hermione shook off her melancholy and headed down to the library. A little studying would do the trick.

+++

She had just reshelved her last book after several hours of researching aftereffects of a variety of jinxes when Draco Malfoy cornered her. He smiled wickedly after making her jump, the prat, and then crossed his arms, effectively blocking her down an aisle. Hermione glared weakly as she attempted to shove past. He wasn’t having it, though.

Hermione’s glare grew stronger, her mouth twisting along with her eyes as she stared up at his gall. Even though Madam Pince was somewhere within the soon-to-be closed library, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling out for assistance. Instead, both hands fisted against her hips, she waited to see what he wanted. He only smirked.

“What? What now?”

“Since you failed to bring me the Felix like you said you would,” he paused briefly as she blustered. “Don’t you think you owe me something else?”

She stared at him. “Sorry, I don’t tutor Slytherins.”

Malfoy blinked. For a second, she thought she saw his face light up, but it was quickly gone. “Rubbish. You tutored Nott last year.”

Hermione amended, “I won’t tutor you.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with me?”

“What indeed,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. Malfoy huffed. When she tried to walk past him again, he lifted his hand, almost touching her. She stopped instantly, a glimpse of fear crossing her eyes. Good, she ought to be afraid, and it might be just enough to encourage her help.

“I could pay you.”

She balked. “I don’t take money for tutoring!”

“Then what will it take for you to help me?” he demanded.

“What are you up to, Malfoy?” she narrowed her eyes. He couldn’t possibly think her stupid enough to agree to spend any time with him, alone or otherwise, especially after the way he threatened her. Draco Malfoy was a bully and a prat, and absolutely mad if he thought she’d forget all of that just because he asked for help.

Still, something was definitely off with him lately, something she couldn’t put her finger on, and it made her doubt. If there was one thing almost as bad as being wrong about something, it would be doubting herself. Hermione eyed the Slytherin warily, watching as he seemed to grow nervous before her very eyes.

“What can you tell me about…Reparo?” he asked meekly, avoiding her question.

Hermione paused, waiting for him to continue. When he showed no signs of doing as such, she asked, “You mean, beyond what second years know?”

He nodded quickly. She didn’t like this.

“Okay,” she cleared her throat, “if I agree to help you, you must follow some basic rules.”

Malfoy scowled. “Such as?”

Hermione exhaled, “Well, for starters, you cannot call me any names whatsoever.” Malfoy nodded in agreement after a second, and so she continued, quickly modifying her basic rules of tutoring. “No leering, or… touching, of any kind.” Her face scrunched up with the thought of feeling his cold, slimy hands on her. She shuddered with the thought, and heard Malfoy’s exaggerated sigh. Hermione couldn’t be too careful, though.

After a long moment in which he considered her ridiculous rules, Draco agreed. Despite the fact she somehow managed to thwart his initial plan to siphon off her luck through touch, agreeing wasn’t technically lying. There would be plenty of opportunities to get her luck.

He watched as she instantly puffed up and began prattling off more than he really needed, or had any interest in knowing, about the spell. As he suspected, she was just getting started after a solid minute of jabbering, so he guided the swot back out of the aisle and began walking towards a nearby table. Deftly she avoided his hand on her elbow, and Draco just smiled wanly.

When she stopped short before him, Draco nearly slammed into her. Granger turned her head in either direction for a moment before leading him towards the Restricted Section. In there, she sat down at a table of her choosing, where Madam Pince was less likely to find them and force them to vacate, or so she explained. Here they could fully discuss the properties, the benefits, and the history of Reparo. _Wonderful._ He sat down and began devising how to get Granger’s luck for himself.

It was almost as painful as sitting through Binns’ class, he thought, as the supposedly cleverest witch in their year rambled away. How had he forgotten just how tedious Granger truly was? Draco did pull out parchment and quill after settling down, and made occasional notes, thinking she might be able to help him out after all. But she was so damn dull! Several times she frowned at him as he gazed off, or began doodling, however it couldn’t be helped. He watched her. Occasionally, Granger would tuck her wayward hair behind her ears.

It wasn’t very long before sleep threatened to take over, and his quill drooped along with his eyes. The heavy drag of a chair jarred him awake. She was already around him, heading out of the library before he caught up to her. “Where are you going?”

She sighed. “It may be the holidays, Malfoy, but I don’t have time to waste on people who can’t even bother to stay alert when they ask for help.” She was practically marching now, and the pace invigorated Draco. Granger was muttering under her breath about something _foolish_ and calling Draco insane.

He reached out to stop her, to force her to tell him what he was missing in her never-ending monologue, to explain why the spell wasn’t working on the cabinet. But the moment he touched her hand, he felt it. A tingle beginning in the tips of his fingers, a charge run through him as quick and shocking as a cold blast, and he could see she felt it as well.

Granger turned back to him, evidently as surprised as he was to feel whatever it was that ran between. A moment later, he let her pull back. “It’s late, Malfoy,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes briefly, but quickly looking away. With a sigh, she said, “I could meet you tomorrow, say in the afternoon, if you still want help.”

He said nothing and let her walk away. All he could focus on were his tingling fingers.

+++

It was well into the afternoon when Draco saw Granger again, this time in the owlery. A visit to the hospital wing had been considered after yet another sleepless night. At this rate, the Dark Lord would have no need to even bother disposing of him, he thought dreadfully. He desperately needed a break, a chance to unravel this dilemma. His parents were counting on him. And Granger held the answer, he was certain of that. If it took the remaining days of holiday, Draco was bound and determined to have her, any way necessary.

When she came into view, he halted, stepping carefully back to avoid being seen or slipping in owl mess. Was she _talking_ to that bird? How pathetic. So that’s what having no friends has reduced her to, he thought.

His smugness faded the longer he watched her gently stroke the school owl, careful to not ruffle his feathers. The wind was blustery this high up and he couldn’t make out what she was saying, but he softened all the same. It was hypnotic, watching Granger. He shook it off. _Must be the higher altitude…or possibly all this bird shit affecting my brain._

When he finally stepped through the doorway, her owl had flown away and she was turning to leave. They locked eyes instantly, and Draco felt a lurch within his chest. Neither spoke for a very long moment, so long it was almost comfortable, and then she cleared her throat.

He continued towards her. This wasn’t why he’d come; he was actually answering a letter from his mother, who had once again voiced her regret that Draco chose to not come home for the holiday. He couldn’t tell her the truth though.

Hermione straightened. She was still uncertain what his game was - cornering her for tutoring then only asking about such a juvenile spell? Draco Malfoy was quite puzzling, and Hermione was somewhere between walking away or figuring him out. She was not a coward, however, so that left her one choice.

True, Malfoy was often a bully and a prat, but everyone deserved a chance to change, right? Perhaps this was the only way he knew how. Or maybe he was just taking advantage.

She chastised herself, shaking the thought aside, and closed the gap between them, waiting. Hermione could see him fighting a sneer, but she refused to react. He was the one who asked for help, after all. Rather than speak to her, Malfoy called down his owl from the rafters, handed off his letter and fed the bird a treat, all without stepping back.

Together they watched the owl soar out into the wintery landscape, soon hidden from sight. Malfoy was standing awfully close. So close, in fact, she thought she felt his hand brush her own. As she began to speak, he looked at her, all traces of disgust gone, leaving behind that same look he gave her at Slughorn’s party. It caused her breath to catch.

“Let’s go, then,” he said, hardly above the wind, as he headed back down.

After a second, she followed him.

The first hour they spent together in the library, Hermione was the only active participant. Malfoy sat next to her, occasionally taking notes, but never asked her anything. There wasn’t much else she could think of about Reparo, so she wound down slowly. Minutes passed and it was quite evident that he wasn’t really paying attention to what she’d been saying.

“What’s this really about, Malfoy?” He turned towards her, staring at her hands rather than looking directly at her.

“Obviously you don’t need me to tell you all about this spell. You know it well enough, don’t you?” He opened his mouth to interrupt her, but she continued. “And your notes – or lack thereof – are quite telling of your complete disregard. So why am I here? Why bother asking for help from me?”

He muttered something that she asked, or perhaps dared, him to repeat, but of course he wouldn’t. Instead, he slammed the books shut, pushing them aside, grumbling about wasted time. Hermione was incensed. “You’re absolutely right, Malfoy, this _is_ a waste of time, mostly mine! I knew something was off with you, and yet I still decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Silly me, to think you could actually _want_ to learn something, but it should have been apparent enough, since you _claim_ to not know about such a juvenile spell!” She was riled up now. She was angry with herself for being so gullible, and had every intention of returning to her common room for the remainder of the day, just to avoid him completely, when Malfoy finally jumped into the fight.

“That’s right, Granger, your time is so precious, isn’t it? Tell me, what exactly do you do now that Potty isn’t here for you to grovel all over, hmm? You’ve got no other friends, what with the Weasel shagging that blonde tart all over the bloody castle. Did you bore him so quickly that he had to move on to more adventurous sport? Or is it that you prefer ‘good Quidditch players’, like McLaggen? No, you’re such a prude; you couldn’t even have a good time at Slughorn’s, could you? Can’t say I blame the bloke. If I had _you_ for a girlfriend-”

He never finished that sentence because Hermione hauled back her right hand and slapped him as hard as she could muster. “How _dare_ you!” Her eyes were burning with tears, angry and embarrassed. Hermione couldn’t help but think she walked into this trap head-on. She couldn’t see her bag very clearly as she carelessly shoved the rest of her books back into it, desperate to escape before the tears actually fell and further embarrassed her.

Her back was fully turned from him when he spoke, hardly louder than a whisper, “I’m sorry. Please.” She stiffened, but somehow she couldn’t move, either to continue out of the library or to face her tormentor. Behind her, she could tell he’d stood up, but hadn’t stepped any closer.

“What I said was…uncalled for. I’m behind in classes. Transfiguration and Charms, mostly,” he sighed. Hermione held her breath as she listened. “I need your help, please.”

“Why should I bother to help you?”

“I can make it worth your while,” he offered, and she barked out a laugh. Her nose began to run and she clumsily wiped at it, losing the secure hold she had on her bag. Malfoy caught the weight of it and slipped it further up her shoulder. She turned to see him.

She couldn’t trust him, ever, as evidenced by the years of persecution as well as the last five minutes. Yet she could see how visibly disturbed he really was as his hands rubbed at his face, his eyes, and mussed his hair. Seeing him that way was shocking, to say the least. For as long as she knew him, Malfoy was always crisply dressed, his hair slicked back and shiny, with a disgusting sneer or insinuating smirk plastered across his face.

But not now. Now he looked tired, frustrated, and something else, something Hermione couldn’t quite place. All of this could very well be just another trick. Or it could be sincere. How could she ever tell with Malfoy?

“The chances of you actually helping me seemed farfetched, of course, but you’re the best, and … ” his voice trailed off as he watched her.

“I don’t tutor anyone for money,” she sniffed. “I told you that yesterday.”

He frowned in response. “I don’t know what I can offer you, then, that would make you willing to help me.” Malfoy sat down heavily in his chair again, dropping his head into his hands. In that moment, her heart constricted and she wasn’t sure why.

Hermione sniffled, then wiped her nose again. Her bag was awfully heavy. She had to make a decision: leave him to wallow in his own failings or prove herself to be the better person. His devious, cruel nature made it certain that this was a trap of some sort.

She walked away.

+++

“Here,” she huffed after dropping an enormous stack of books, topped with rolls of thick, twined parchment, which rolled across the table a few moments later.

Draco stared open-mouthed. “What’s all that?”

“Extra credit,” she replied. His tension eased as his disbelief grew. “For Professor McGonagall, for you.” She reached for the top book and began thumbing through the thick pages, eyes scanning each rapidly. “You said you’re behind in Transfiguration,” she explained as though to a child, “Well, this is what we studied last week. It’ll give you not only a head start for when term resumes, but also meet the requirements she has set for you.”

Draco began to protest, that he was much further behind than just one week, but Granger merely pulled out her diary and said, “Everything will work out.”

If only it could, he thought, accepting the open book she offered and reading where she indicated. He couldn’t imagine what had changed her mind, but he thanked Merlin for it. A not-so-small part of him worried what she would ask for in return of her help, but until she brought it up, he would ignore it. Besides, she likely was doing it for the sake of swots everywhere, championing for the ignorant and poor or some such rot. Gryffindors were nearly as bad as Hufflepuffs when it boiled down to it.

There was an instant when Draco wanted to jerk her out of that chair and haul her by bushy head straight up into the Room of Hidden Things. If she was so brilliant, he ought to put her straight to work on that damned cabinet and get him out of this mess for good.

It could work, couldn’t it? Threatening her life, or that of some insipid house elf, perhaps, if she tried to refuse? He could practically hear her trembling through the spell that would solve all of his problems, but then he’d still be behind in studies.

 _I’ve lost my mind, haven’t I? Worried more about my marks when there’s a distinct possibility I won’t make it through the year. If I succeed, the Dark Lord will congratulate me, certainly._ He thought about that. If he succeeded, if he managed to kill Dumbledore, He would take down Hogwarts, and the old man’s bloody band of half-bloods, Mudbloods and blood traitors, and set everything right. They were destined for war, whether he succeeded or not.

He pushed the book away, readying to stand. Suddenly he felt sick. Looking over at Granger, he found her busily scanning the pages of two more books, jotting down notes for him.

He wouldn’t have to force her or threaten her. He just had to ask for her help, and she’d give it, with little hesitation, it seemed. No matter how nasty and vile he was either. Just what was it about Gryffindors that made them such bleeding hearts?

 _She would be one of the first to go._

Draco shook his head. No, she wouldn’t be killed, not right off, anyway. She would fight back, standing alongside Potter and _Weaslebee_ and the others. Fighting against those like his Aunt Bellatrix, his parents, or perhaps Greyback. Draco shuddered. He thought about how he’d planned to kill her before, to get her luck. Now he was _really_ going to be sick.

What if he was wrong? What if she wasn’t naturally lucky? Would she survive the war that was breathing down their necks while they sat here revising like lumps? He studied her for a long time, until the sick feeling dissipated.

Just on the other side of her was another book she hadn’t examined. Slowly, feeling equally uncertain and desperate, he reached across her towards it. Half-standing, he leaned into her, interrupting her research as he practically laid the length of his arm across her chest.

The anticipation was terrible, waiting for the shock when he felt her. It didn’t come.

“Malfoy, what,” she exclaimed, thrusting back in her seat, her head swiveling about. She grabbed the book out from under him, and passed it down. “Honestly, you could’ve just asked, you know,” she muttered with a head shake as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Draco wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. True, he had expected to feel whatever that was he’d felt whenever he’d touched her. And when nothing happened...

In his hands he held the book she’d given, the book he didn’t really want, or even know what to search for within it, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. She wasn’t like Pansy, that was certain. Whereas Pansy was smooth and done up every time he saw her, Granger was unbound, wild. It made him itch almost to see such abandon. That hair! Merlin, she could have a gaggle of bowtruckles nested in there for all he knew. He leaned over slightly. He couldn’t recall seeing her with makeup on either. He sniffed.

When Granger tensed, he knew he’d been caught. Draco couldn’t move away, though, and so he saw very clearly her expression of distrust and annoyance. Finally he sat back, his heart beating erratically. She gathered her belongings, said that they’d done enough for one day, and was gone.

+++

“No, that’s not right,” she said in exasperation, placing her hand over his as he held his wand out. Rather than meeting once more in the library the next afternoon, Granger had suggested an empty classroom in which they could work on his practicum. After two hours, some of what she was explaining was finally sinking in. Or so he thought. “Do it again, like this.”

Her fingers were cold and startling, but immediately they warmed him. The swinging arc of her demonstration was awkward and a bit jerky, to say the least, yet he relished her closeness all the same. He could smell her soap, this close. Draco inhaled deeply, silently, savoring her scent as it filled his chest. He closed his eyes.

“You’re not going to learn it _that_ way,” Granger sighed, releasing his hand. Instantly he ached from the loss. She flung herself down on the nearest desk, rubbing at her forehead as though all of this were giving her a headache. He knew the feeling. Draco shook his head, willing away his confusion and frustration. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

How was one to relax with the most uptight witch in school, he wondered absently. Draco sat down across the room and thrummed his wand gently against his thigh. The silence stretched, filling the room, and his ears strained to hear the faintest sound, any sound, and heard a soft scratching noise. He lifted his head and saw that she was scribbling away on parchment.

 _Constantly swotting it up, she was._ Granger _really_ needed to find a hobby not involving school work, he mused. After a moment, he realized she was writing a letter rather than an essay. Curiosity took over. “Who are you writing?”

She didn’t answer at first, so he jumped up and sat down practically in her lap before asking again. She was obviously uncomfortable with his closeness, considering how harshly her quill struck the parchment. Draco was quite amused by it all. In a sing-song voice, he asked again, “Who are you writing?”

“Harry.”

“What about?

”

“Nothing.”

“Certainly a bit of nothing going on, judging by the size of your scroll, isn’t there?”

She sniffed.

“Are you done, then? I don’t fancy wasting my time watching you write your ignorant friends all day.”

Granger didn’t reply, but also didn’t stop. He waited for several seconds as he considered jerking the page out from under her quill, or possibly shoving her off. Instead, he turned his eyes from her quick, neat handwriting to her face, watching the stillness there. Her tongue jotted out, moistening her upper lip. Draco’s stomach lurched.

“Seriously, must you sit here, watching me? You’re the one behind in lessons, so why don’t you go practice on your own a bit?” she barked, shoving at him with her shoulder. He was taken aback by her abruptness. Something was definitely wrong with her today, more so than usual, rather.

Draco snatched the scroll up and jumped far from her clutching hands.

“I’m not in the mood to play with you,” she warned.

“Obviously,” he said as he read what she’d written. She was distracting him with her thrusts to retrieve it. It must be rather scandalous, the way she was carrying on, and so he quickly made out her handwriting.

He couldn’t help but laugh at what he read, but it was cut short when she aimed a stinging hex his way. Draco jumped in fright, dropping the letter, which she quickly recovered. “You stupid bitch, you could’ve burned me!”

She scoffed, “Not likely, Malfoy. It was mild at best, and no less than what you deserved.” Granger gathered her things, preparing to leave, but Draco wouldn’t have it.

“What is it about Weasley that’s got you so hot and bothered anyway, Granger?” Judging by the little he’d managed to make out before she so rudely jinxed him, Granger fancied the poor ginger. His question was sincere; he truly couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would want to snog a Weasley.

The blush on her cheek encouraged him to pry. “Do you love the bastard?”

“Don’t see how that’s any concern of yours or why you’d be interested in the least.”

“I’m curious.”

“I’ll say,” she muttered, tightening the knot on her bag. She was leaving, but not quite yet. “Let me go, Malfoy. We’re finished for the day.”

“I wouldn’t fuss over him, Granger. He’s not worth it,” he said with a sniff. She looked up at him, a peculiar expression on her face. Something churned within, and he quickly added, “Impoverished imbecile is not the best boyfriend stock.”

She glared at him and grunted, forcing her way out of the classroom, while Draco laughed. Over her shoulder, he thought he heard her say, “Happy Christmas, Malfoy,” and he quickly sobered.

+++

Christmas was a sad affair for Hermione this year. For not the first time, she regretted staying behind. Mrs. Weasley had sent her a lovely jumper that she’d likely never wear, but rather Transfigure into a smaller version to leave a house elf. It was rather irritating the number of items she knitted for them that they blatantly left behind, but she was taking full advantage of the holidays, when no one could reprimand her for trying to free them.

Harry had sent her some chocolate frogs and sugar quills, but nothing came from Ron. Didn’t matter, she told herself. The joy of Christmas was in the giving, not receiving. Still, it stung, especially after Harry’s letter in which he did not mention Ron one time. Of course, Ron didn’t bother to write her, but that was a blessing. Hermione wasn’t sure how much gushing about Lavender she could stand.

She sat alone in her dormitory, glancing occasionally between the falling snow and heater, desperately trying not to think. Her thoughts led her straight to Malfoy. She wondered what he was doing down in the dungeons, practically alone. As much as she’d seen of him this week, she assumed all his friends had gone home as well. Hermione frowned, wondering how cold it was beneath the lake where their dormitories were.

How strange it was to be worried about Malfoy. Hermione stood up to pace, hoping to return warmth to her chilled toes and offer some other occupation for her mind. She thought back to the night they patrolled, just before the break, and how odd that Draco Malfoy, of all people, was superstitious. It was funny then and even now, but not as much. She considered all his peculiarities of late -- the way he avoided stepping on cracks, his reaction to the broken mirror, and especially the way he pursued her every day since.

Hermione knew she ought to take special caution around him because of this strange behavior, but something didn’t add up. Grabbing a quill and paper, Hermione sat down on her bed, determined to figure him out.

+++


	2. Chapter 2

Soon Christmas was over and it wouldn’t be long before the students returned to Hogwarts. The usually hectic corridors normally reverberated with the cacophony of a thousand students running about. Today, however, they were eerily silent except for the determined clip of Hermione Granger’s march. Draco looked over his shoulder just in time to see her cornering him.

“Draco, I’m not stupid.”

He swallowed. “You’re not?”

Granger gave him a pathetic glare, her head cocking sideways slightly. “No,” she insisted. “It’s quite obvious what this is all about.”

Draco began to panic, his heart racing against his ribs and his mouth suddenly went very dry. She only smirked in response.

“Actually, it’s to be expected, in normal circumstances,” she said, no longer looking up at him. Instead, she was fingering her sweater hem, straightening, stretching and then flattening it in an almost manic fashion. Why was _she_ nervous? He was the one discovered. If she really knew what he was up to, then she’d have already told Dumbledore or that old bat McGonagall. Perhaps she had.

He was finished.

Draco exhaled heavily, slouching back against the wall. There was nothing he could do. He almost felt relieved, which was odd. True, he didn’t want this task that was before him, but he never expected exposure to be so liberating. Granger was still talking, and he’d apparently missed something important.

“…of course, it’s not something I would have ever considered, but only a stubborn fool would rule out the possibility. Certainly would go along with everything Professor Dumbledore’s been asking us to do all these years, wouldn’t it, to stop being prejudiced? Obviously, there will be many who will oppose it, especially my friends, and I suppose yours.”

She took a deep breath, yet Draco was the one feeling dizzy. “But we shouldn’t have to worry what others would say or think.”

“We shouldn’t?”

“Of course not. It’s not their place, is it? Although it could be problematic,” Granger said, looking anxiously at him.

“Problematic,” he frowned. Granger was certainly taking it all in stride.

“And despite what you might think of me, I’m not _completely_ impervious, not really. I am a girl. A woman, rather,” she amended.

Draco was confused. “Granger,” he interrupted, “What exactly are you going on about?”

She blinked, then shook her head. “You’re as bad as the boys, sometimes,” she said. “I’m talking about your crush on me.”

“What?”

“It’s _obvious_ , Malfoy. Why else would you be stalking me, begging me for help -”

“Stalking?!”

“Yes, well, perhaps that’s too harsh a word,” she muttered, biting her lip. She shook herself free and continued. “For days now, every time I turn about, there you are, feigning ignorance on our assignments, trying to _touch me_. Now I understand, sort of. You like me,” she finished in a rush. Granger’s steam had apparently run out as she continued to stand there.

His head pounded. There was too much happening too quickly to follow. Then it came to him. Draco laughed, a short barking sound that made Granger jump a little. Draco caught her eye then and couldn’t help but smile at the clueless girl.

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Draco reached for her face and kissed her. Actually, it could hardly be considered a kiss. He held her face between his hands loosely, and pressed his lips against hers. Perhaps this is what he’d been missing all along, but something then changed. Granger pulled back a bit, enough to create a fraction of distance between them. She was gone and suddenly he missed her terribly.

Draco opened his eyes – when had he closed them – and watched as she nervously returned his gaze. His heart lurched. When her brown eyes fell away, so did his hands. Neither spoke. The corridor was so deathly quiet, even the portraits were silently watching, waiting. He didn’t care.

Granger was twitching, actually twitching, before him. A small part of him wanted to laugh again, but instead he found himself tugging on her hand. She looked up at him and that’s when he saw it, saw something change. She smiled at _him_ , Draco Malfoy. He couldn’t help smiling back.

Together they moved at the same moment, and this time when they kissed it was stronger, deeper. She had rather cold lips, which was surprising for someone who talked nonstop. But they were soft, and he thought he could taste syrup from breakfast. She made a small noise and he feared she would pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, Draco felt her hands land on his hips, barely there.

He deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue against the seam of her mouth until she opened it wide enough to enter. Draco led her blindly towards the opposite wall, where the residents of nearby portraits complained about such lascivious behavior, in the corridors no less. When she shifted, he followed, determined to not let her go. It felt better than he could have imagined, kissing Hermione Granger.

Suddenly she was gone. His eyes popped open to see she had slipped and was righting herself, nervously laughing. Her eyes were bright and wide, her small white teeth nibbling at her plump lower lip. She looked back at him and he could see the flush of embarrassment bloom across her cheeks. Quite unexpectedly, she leaned up to kiss him again. This time she was rather aggressive, urgently tugging at his robes. Draco was overwhelmed by the girl in his arms.

When he tried to pull her forward, she tripped once more, and this time they were both left giggling. Her left hand caressed his cheek and he held his breath. She turned to look behind where she was standing, and he caught a glimpse of a nearby classroom. Without hesitation, Draco followed the girl in and slammed the door shut behind.

+++

As she walked back to her dormitory, Hermione considered the last hour. What she and Malfoy were doing wasn’t wrong, necessarily. They were both single, young adults, passing time together in a more-intimate-than-usual way, is all. Full stop.

But it wasn’t that simple. She knew how Ron and Harry would react when they found out. If they found out, she amended. Who’s to say this, whatever it was, would even last till term resumed? Not Hermione, certainly.

Malfoy definitely was villainous at times, most times, but did that make him the villain? He was devilishly handsome when he stopped sneering. Her pace slowed as her fingers gently pressed against her smiling lips. What was wrong with feeling good? And what business was it of any of her friends whom she chose to kiss? They weren’t eloping, for goodness sake! They were just spending time together, being friendly.

Snogging.

The blush that bloomed on her cheeks spread up to her hairline. _Stop that; no reason whatsoever to be embarrassed. Kissing is completely natural; everybody does it._ A memory of Ron and Lavender returned full force.

Hermione sighed. Unwilling to ruin this moment, she imagined Malfoy kissing her again and put the others to rest. Besides, how many nights had she overheard her roommates giggling over snogging boys? Even Ginny wasn’t immune. So what was the harm in kissing Malfoy?

He was different this year, quieter, she reasoned to herself. Something had definitely changed. Hermione decided it was a sign of his growing maturity, which was lacking in most boys their age.

Although he did call her Mudblood, quite recently, too. But not since she agreed to help him and definitely not since he kissed her. _That was only an hour ago,_ a voice inside argued. Not since things changed, then. _How much can he have really changed, though?_

All of this was completely ridiculous, because it just happened the one time, and all because he had developed a crush. Of course, she denied her own growing fascination with the Slytherin. Naturally. She was being completely ludicrous. This was not how she was, or who she was. Hermione was not a giggling girl. She was sensible, logical, rational.

She was becoming infatuated.

She made double time up the stairs, brushing aside such ridiculous ideas. Honestly, it was just a kiss, nothing serious to it.

When she reached the Fat Lady, she paused. _What if he doesn’t see eye to eye with me on this? What if he thinks it’s more than what it truly is? Could it be more than what it is?_

Why was she even thinking such a thing?

“Baubles,” she said to the Fat Lady.

“Where have you been, girl?” the portrait asked, mischievously winking at her.

Hermione stiffened. “Nowhere.”

“Is that so? The blush on your cheeks says otherwise,” the Fat Lady teased. “Off with a young man, I’d say.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and repeated the password. The Fat Lady eyed Hermione for as long as possible before swinging open. She could have sworn she heard the portrait murmur something about first love, but she was more concerned with her own thoughts at the moment.

He’s a boy, and if Harry and Ron were anything to judge by, the idea would never cross Draco’s mind. She paused again before ascending the Girls’ dormitories stairs. _Mmm, Draco._ She repeated his name silently, feeling the weight of it on her lips, her tongue, but not daring to say it where anyone could hear, especially here. The remaining steps whirled beneath her in a dash of unfamiliar giddiness.

+++

The next two days sped past faster than Hermione could have imagined. The time they’d scheduled for revisions was instead filled with other amusements, and both of them found reasons to stay in the other’s company for several hours each day. Despite Hermione’s insistence that _some_ work be done, the morning following their first nearly hour long snog she found her usually strong resolve melting away once again beneath his kisses.

Occasionally she resisted, like when Ron came to mind. She was rational enough to recognize the guilt, and she knew Harry and Ron wouldn’t approve of her behavior for most of the same reasons. But somehow Malfoy convinced her to stop thinking altogether. It made her feel good, spending time like this.

However, Hermione informed Malfoy on the second day, after escaping from his roving hands and naughty whispers, that if they were to continue as such, they needed a proper place to sit. Malfoy balked when she asked him to Transfigure a desk into a sofa, but after multiple, frustrating attempts, he succeeded, and threw her down onto the dusty old thing.

Malfoy couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He was constantly tugging and pulling at her, kissing her mouth or her neck. And smiling, which was the weirdest part, she believed, seeing Draco Malfoy smile.

During one non-snogging moment, they sat together on the sofa, Malfoy playing with the strands of her hair that refused to stay tucked behind her left ear, while she reworked his study schedule for the next term. Malfoy caressed the shell of her ear as he pushed the stubborn curls back. The pads of his fingers left a burning trail across her skin, eliciting a gasp when his mouth pressed against the sensitive area beneath her ear lobe.

“What’s with your silly superstitions,” she blurted out. Hermione fought the hand that wanted to clamp down on her mouth for ruining such a moment. He just laughed as he nuzzled her.

“What are you talking about?”

Well, she did want to know, even if the timing was awful. “The other night, when we last patrolled together. I saw you.” For a reason she couldn’t precisely name, she didn’t outright mock him for avoiding the cracks. She would have thought he’d remembered without her having to, especially since she’d teased him terribly for it at the time. Hermione blushed, but whether it was from shame at being callous before or because of where his mouth was right then, she couldn’t say.

“I’m not superstitious,” he argued. “I don’t carry around a severed rabbit’s foot in my pocket!”

“No, but – oh, really, you don’t?” She teased with a smile, playfully reaching for his pocket. He pulled back and he sneered at her for a second, and all she could do was laugh. “But those other, little…quirks, I guess you’d call them. You _are_ superstitious, Malfoy.”

Although he was within arm’s reach, he felt distant. She turned to look at him directly and found he was staring down at his hands. Between his fingers he held a single strand of her hair. Funny, that she didn’t feel it when he tugged it out. “Do you wish people happy birthday, Granger?”

She blinked, not prepared for the change in subject. She nodded.

“How about saying ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes?”

“Those are customs, Malfoy, traditions; not the same thing at all.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “Most customs derived from superstitions. The more irrational ones never transitioned over into the modern world, is all.”

Laughter gurgled up out of her. She looked at him, noticing his serious expression, and laughed again. “No, they don’t. Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It’s true, though,” he argued, slouching back on the sofa, brushing his fingers free of her hair. She frowned. “Take for example, gingers. Everybody knows gingers possess gross humor and ill blood.”

“Are you mad? That’s completely ludicrous. Look at the Weasleys-”

“My point exactly.”

Hermione shoved at Malfoy, only causing him to rock slightly, and he used the momentum to come at her again, trailing kisses up from her collar bone. How could she argue when he was distracting her?

“Besides,” he murmured into her neck. “What would you know? Do Muggles even have customs?”

“I beg your pardon! Of course Muggles do. Muggles have been on this Earth just as long as wizards and witches have-”

She could have sworn she heard him moan under his breath, something sounding awfully close to, “here we go again,” before he pulled back, his arm resting on the back of the sofa behind her.

“In fact, we should stop by the library. I’m positive I once read a book concerning superstitions.”

He blinked twice as he stared at her, dumbfounded. “By that rationale, proper etiquette’s nothing more than superstition.”

Granger tried to interject, “Well, actually-”

Malfoy huffed, shaking his head. He knew the conversation had taken a turn to absurdity, but she seemed determined to prove him wrong. “Oh, well, I suppose shaking hands, or … or cutting house elf heads off is taboo, according to you!”

Hermione was completely, irrevocably horrified. Although the concept wasn’t wholly alien to her, she had seen the décor at Grimmauld Place, where dozens of elf head were kept under glass, unpreserved, but she had always assumed it was a unique situation. To hear that it was tradition in wizarding families was absolutely appalling. Taking a deep breath, she began to set him straight on the differences between acceptable and unacceptable customs, wizard or otherwise.

Draco was rather proud of his tolerance level, especially since he managed to only sneer twice while she rambled on endlessly. He did not like it, however, when her posture stiffened and she pulled enough away from him so that they were no longer even touching. During just two days, two blissful, stress-free days of discovering that Granger actually had a sensual side and wasn’t just boring facts and brain trash, he’d almost forgotten all of his worries. In fact, now that she was lecturing him, he was reminded that she wasn’t just some witch he was spending time with. She was Muggleborn.

No, she was a Mudblood.

The notion disturbed him, but not as much as he thought it once would. Draco found himself nodding occasionally as she moved on from mocking his traditions back to his assignments for Flitwick and McGonagall. The distance between them on that dusty sofa seemed to stretch infinitely.

He glared hatefully at her now, wishing she would shut up. He opened his mouth to say as much, but stopped. It wouldn’t benefit him in the long run. He was doing all this just to earn her good fortune, he reminded himself. Seemed like she was too much of a distraction, really, and he couldn’t tell if he hated her for it or not.

At this point, Draco thought he’d get further along with the cabinet than with Granger today. He looked up then. When had she stopped blathering about the poor house elves? There she primly sat, reading. Of course she would ruin his opportunity to storm off mid-monologue.

“Well, if you’re quite finished,” he lamely said, fumbling slightly with his belongings as he made to leave her behind. She didn’t even look up when he crossed to the door, the selfish bitch. Outside the door he waited, listening, wondering how soon before she followed. After nearly a minute he realized she wouldn’t chase after him, and then he didn’t want her to after all. He had business to attend.

Up a few flights of stairs, all the while muttering under his breath, Draco headed for the Room of Hidden Things. _Bloody wasted afternoon. Soon everybody will return, Dumbledore as well, and then where will he be? No further along than before all of this malarkey. Fucking Muggleb-, Mudblood._

He paused down the corridor from the room, mentally checking his calendar. Today was twenty-eighth December. _Oh, bollocks!_ He couldn’t go in there, today of all days. If he did, who knew what would happen? His luck, the damned thing would likely explode in his face, shredding him to bloody bits.

 _Fucking bitch, Granger! She probably knew, set him up, even, was probably…_

Draco stopped. Did she actually know? Could she possibly know all about the cabinet, his mission? He thought, perhaps he’d been careless these last couple of days when leaving her so abruptly. Could she have somehow tracked him? That would explain why she deliberately picked a fight with him, just to prove her damned point.

He looked back towards their classroom, considering. No, Granger didn’t work that way, did she? No, if she knew, she would have confronted him or barged in while he working one night, demanding an explanation.

She didn’t know anything.

But what if she did? What harm would there be if Granger did know or was even involved? Maybe…maybe he _should_ have her look at it? Over a week into his scheme to win her luck, and he’d come no further in solving the mystery.

What if she was supposed to fix it for him? Would she? There was little doubt in his mind that she was capable. She was, hands down, brilliant, especially for a Muggleborn.

Mudblood, rather.

And what the hell was up with that, he wondered. Had spending so much time with the chit brainwashed him? She was a Mudblood, a lower class peon, unworthy of the magical blood coursing through her veins.

The idea made him grimace.

In any case, whether she knew or not, he wasn’t willing to chance Fate today to work on the vanishing cabinet. He’d do just as well if it were a Friday the thirteenth.

Irritated and greatly confused, Draco slammed his way back downstairs. He couldn’t very well go back down to her now, could he? No. Even though his plans had been thwarted, he’d be damned if he’d slink back to Granger, tail tucked and all. He still wasn’t completely convinced she didn’t know. Plus, she was too much of a distraction, and now he needed clear thinking in order to proceed.

Complete fucking waste of a day.

Tiredly, Draco trudged all the way back down to the dungeons and headed straight for bed.

+++

It was midafternoon when things turned sour.

She had considered not even bothering to show today, after his temper tantrum yesterday. But ultimately she decided that would make her equally as childish. If Malfoy did show up, then she would be willing to turn a new page. If not, then it was no skin off of her nose. She wasn’t the one falling behind in class. In fact, she reasoned with herself, he really ought to apologize.

The likelihood of that ever happening was the same as Ron earning high marks without her notes and pestering. As Hermione sat waiting for him at a worn desk, she looked towards the sofa he’d transfigured. She still wasn’t exactly sure what she thought she was doing with him. Being with Draco Malfoy was odd, to say the least. Exciting, almost. Not that her life lacked excitement. On the contrary, far from it, but it was of a different nature. Never one for romantic notions, Hermione couldn’t seem to wrap her head around this sudden change in their relationship.

Her eyes bulged at her choice of words. This most certainly was _not_ a relationship. It was an experiment, yes, that was all. She was simply experimenting, doing the things girls her age were meant to do, experiencing … things. Nothing odd about that whatsoever.

Obviously, Malfoy was going through some changes, maturing. No one could go from obnoxious bully to boyfriend material in just a matter of days. Hermione focused on his weird behavior instead of her own. Her brow creased and she bit her lip worriedly, then relaxed.

 _Perhaps I’m supposed to help him change. What if I’m his second chance?_

The classroom door swung open, startling her. He’d come back. She had to school her features to keep from smiling when she saw him, and it was rather easy to do, considering he looked like death warmed over. There were dark patches under both eyes, and his clothes were less than immaculate. This was not the first time she’d noticed how he’d let himself go.

Malfoy said nothing as he shut the door behind him, and then walked towards where she sat watching him. For a very long moment, she stared up at him. He looked absolutely terrible, somehow lost. An ache knotted inside her chest and she felt her anxiety rising.

“Will you,” he began quietly, dropping her gaze. “Look this over for me, please?” In his hand he held a roll of parchment. Without a word, she took it from him, unrolling it to see it was an essay for Flitwick.

“Of course,” she whispered. Malfoy sighed heavily, walking past her towards their sofa, and. With one arm slung over his eyes, he appeared to fall asleep. Hermione turned back to his essay and left him alone for the time being.

The quill scratches were the only steady noise, followed occasionally by the sound of turning pages. Draco had slept soundly for over an hour, all the while Granger had checked over his work, offering minimal corrections, which he accepted without argument. After completing that assignment, he pulled out his Transfiguration book and began the chapter concerning human transfiguration. It reminded him of that day just over a week ago when he’d accidentally smashed his mirror and how she fixed it.

Draco often wondered why she did the things she did for him quite frequently these days.

Looking up from the book, he saw her scribbling away at what looked to be another letter. “Who is it you write?”

Granger’s quill continued scratching across the page, but her shoulders hunched slightly further when she answered, “Viktor.”

Draco wracked his brain, not recognizing the name, until finally it came to him. “What, Krum?” She sighed but said nothing, so he continued. “Whatever for?”

Her writing stopped and she looked up, exasperated. “Why does writing to Krum seem to bother so many people,” she asked herself. When Draco only stared at her, she continued. “Viktor and I are rather close friends, you see, and we like to stay in contact.” Satisfied with her explanation, she returned to her letter, which was edging closer to the bottom of the scroll.

Draco set his book completely aside and slowly walked towards her desk, attempting to read what she’d written at the odd angle, but she blocked him. He smirked.

“ _Accio_ letter!”

The page zipped out from under her folded arm, straight into his waiting hand. Instantly she rose, a furious expression on her face, but he just smiled in return. Being so much taller than the girl, he easily evaded her reach time and again, however it made reading rather difficult. Draco attempted to read aloud.

“Dearest Viktor -- _dearest_? Really?” he snickered.

“Draco Malfoy, you give that back!”

“It’s so good to hear from you,” he read in a mocking tone. “Hope you had a wonderful Christmas. I’m so glad to know you’re enjoying France without me… wait, what?” Draco looked again at the words.

Suddenly, he felt as though his feet were on fire. With a yelp, he jumped back, noting that they _were_ , in fact, covered in small blue flames. The letter was quickly forgotten as he used his wand to put out his feet, cursing the entire time. He hobbled back over to the sofa, wrenching his shoes off and slamming them against the far wall in anger. Granger was smug, smoothing out the slightly rumpled parchment before rolling it up and tying it off.

“Serves you right,” she said. She turned her back towards him and seemed to hesitate before moving towards her things.

“Is Krum your lover, then?”

For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to acknowledge that he’d said anything at all, but then she paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. She didn’t turn back to look at him when she replied, “I told you: Viktor and I are very close.”

“So close that he’d want his bit on the side to accompany him on Christmas holiday? I suppose you know, being so brilliant and all, that he’s dating Charis Lorcalan, lead singer of _Squibs On The Rise_.” He waited, seeing if she’d take the bait. “Wonder how she’d take the news that her Bulgarian baby was diddling a Mudblood?”

Granger spun around with such righteous anger that he regretted what he’d said. “I don’t see how that is any business of yours,” she said coolly. Her jaw was set, and her wand was clutched tightly still in her right hand, but it was her eyes that scared him most of all. Unless he was completely imagining it, she was hurt.

Draco felt a sharp twist in his chest, which he chose to ignore as he slowly stepped towards her, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone floor. “Just what kind of witch are you, Granger? Here you are, writing love sonnets off to Krum the barbarian while his girlfriend is away. Meanwhile, you’re messing about with me. And what should we all think about your very odd relationship with Potty and _Weaslebee_ , hmm? Something going between you three?”

“If I didn’t know any better,” she began, her eyebrows lifting and falling with every other word. “I’d say you were jealous.”

“Don’t be mad, Granger!”

“Why else would you care what I did?”

“Who you did, you mean. And I don’t,” he insisted, shrugging a shoulder as he stepped back. “Would have thought a smart girl like you wouldn’t waste her time on such idiots, is all.”

“Careful, Malfoy, that sounds like a compliment,” she said archly. Her stance widened at the door, her hip jutting out. Suddenly he was overcome with the urge to knock her down.

Draco’s nostrils flared. He quickly took the ground between them. “A compliment! Only a slag would think bedding three blokes and stringing along a fourth would be considered a compliment.” Granger’s mouth opened and shut comically, but Draco found none of this funny whatsoever.

She stiffened, her chin jutting up in defiance, but she held her tongue, although he could tell it was quite a struggle for her. After a moment, she broke, hissing, “I’m not that kind of a girl, Malfoy, and I’ll thank you to shut your stupid mouth!”

Now he was even with her against the door, which stood open behind her. At any moment she could walk away, they both knew it, yet she remained. Her face was enflamed and her eyes looked glassy, and something inside him seemed to stop dead still as he stared down at her.

“No, you’re not, are you?” he whispered. His anger was slipping away, leaving Draco lightheaded with the rush. “You’re my kind of witch, Granger.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m yours.”

“Aren’t you?” His finger traced down her cheek, his thumb rubbed against her lips, forcing them to part a little. Draco stared down at her defiance, amazed and aroused. Very carefully, afraid of her wrath, he bent down towards her mouth. The kiss was completely one-sided, and that wouldn’t do. He pulled back enough to speak, his moving lips brushing against hers as he whispered, “You ought to be.”

He gripped her upper arms and pulled her flush against his body as he kissed her. Granger fought a bit, squirming away, but her attempt was futile at best. Her heart wasn’t in it, and Draco felt triumphant. He held her there, feeling her breasts flattened against his chest, her racing heart beating near his own. He let go of her arms and one hand wound its way up into her unruly hair, while the other squeezed her bottom, lifting her onto her toes. She gasped, opening up for him at last. With his tongue he explored her warm, wet mouth, moaning into her when she finally began to kiss him back.

With very little prompting, Draco maneuvered Granger away from the open doorway, back towards the instructor’s desk, all the while both were making enough noise to wake the dead. When at last they reached the desk, her right thigh lifted, rubbing up and down against his outer thigh, until he caught it beneath the knee and held her still, pressing himself further between her splayed legs.

Robes were such a nuisance at times like this. Frantically he tore at his own, pulling back enough to rip them off. He watched her shed hers as well, the black fabric pooling around her before slipping down around her ankles. Beneath it she wore a standard uniform, including her house colors. Draco was distracted momentarily by the length of her skirt, considering how cold the castle was this time of year. He imagined how her skin must be prickling from the change in temperature, and he longed to feel her bare skin against his palms.

Next she reached for his tie, her breasts heaving with each pant. He watched them rise and fall, hypnotically, and couldn’t help touching them. She moaned. He had to have her. His tie was almost completely loose when he lifted her up onto the desk. She spread her legs impossibly wide, wide enough that he could fit perfectly into the cradle of her hips. Her shirt was the next item on his “to go” list.

Her right leg rose again, curving around his hip and yanking him even closer. Her breasts rose up invitingly over her white lacey bra. Draco bent down to latch onto the tender skin there, hearing her gasp, feeling her hands clutching at his back and threading through his hair.

“Draco,” she sighed and he could have sworn his heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t let go either. Her little fingers were trembling as she worked at his shirt buttons, unfastening them one after another, until at last enough room was made for her hands to reach through and clutch at his chest. She ran her thumbs across his chest. Her hands were warm and felt very good there, until she found his nipples and brushed them roughly.

Now he was the one gasping. He wanted to return the favor, and so he tugged down the front of her bra, exposing one nipple to the chilly air, which was already pebbled and waiting for him. Draco bent down to suck the tip into his mouth. She held him firmly, both legs wrapped around his bottom, the hand in his hair practically pulling fistfuls out as she moaned.

“AHA!” A voice came from outside of the classroom, causing them both to jump with fright. There was Peeves the poltergeist hovering in the doorway, making mock kissing faces. Frantically, the pair righted themselves, untangling limbs and tripping over discarded clothes.

With a flick of his wand, Draco slammed the door shut, but it did no good. Not two seconds later, in zoomed Peeves, howling once more as loud as he could, “Ittle Malfoy’s dipping his nib in the Know-it-all! Malfoy and the Mudblood, sitting in a tree!”

“Shut it!” he screeched, which only made the bothersome poltergeist cackle louder than before.

“Malfoy’s stickin’ it to the Mudblood! Malfoy and the Mudblood!” Then he whooshed back out of the room, followed directly by a furiously red Granger.

“Granger, wait,” he reached for her but missed. She was gone.

What the buggering hell just happened?

+++

The snow drifted down steadily like white ash, almost invisible against the cliffs edging the covered bridge, soothing Hermione much more than she thought possible. Yet it was only a temporary salve, at best.

Things were truly, wretchedly hopeless.

She turned away from the peaceful view, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her chilled, gloved hands under her arms. It was cold, but not unbearable. Icicles lined the awning in various sizes. Even though it was well into the morning, the sun would not make an appearance on this penultimate day of the year.

Absently, she aimed her wand towards the icicles and slowly melted them away, watching as they steadily dripped down onto the railing. How could she let this happen? Where was her head? It was one thing to test the waters, to see what else, or rather who else was available besides the first boy she ever fancied. Snogging Draco Malfoy like a rabid ferret was another thing entirely. And she did more than just snog him, and worse still, she was seen doing it. But the part that hurt most of all was that all of this only proved him right to call her a slag.

Hermione had been out since before sunrise, leaning against the railing, avoiding the residents within. Surely by now they all knew, but she just couldn’t face it. At least Ron and Harry weren’t here to witness her degradation, and for what? A whim with a boy who couldn’t stand her? A boy who’d done nothing but make her childhood absolutely miserable, and all because she thought he was maturing.

She couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday, try as she might, but he certainly didn’t act like a boy who claimed to hate her so much. Perhaps this was just his new game, teasing her, making her want impossible, idiotic things. Like wanting him. She spun about, dropping her head into her hands. It was her own damned fault, she knew it. Yesterday was done and tomorrow was still to come. Everything will work out, she assured herself. _When you see Malfoy next, just explain to him that it was a mistake and that it would be best if he found someone else to tutor him. There. Done. Easy._

“Hermione?”

Why did God hate her so much? Hermione forced herself not to look at the boy who’d found her here, in the unlikeliest of places. Instead, she took a breath and ran with her spiel.

“Listen, Malfoy,” she paused, the words stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tutor you anymore. You see, I’ve been neglecting my own revisions, and I simply can’t afford that.”

“You’re lying.”

She swallowed, her cheeks growing so hot, she feared touching them would singe her mittens. “This has all been…a terrible mistake. I don’t know where you think this is going, Malfoy,” she said. “But it’s gone far enough. Too far, in fact, so please, just leave me alone.”

For a moment, she thought he’d left, it was so quiet. When she turned, he was still there, though, watching her. He looked horrible, as though he’d not slept the night before. Hermione herself had had very little sleep, but she couldn’t justify her reasoning for him as well.

Perhaps she was wrong, though? Wouldn’t getting caught with a Mudblood ruin his pure blood reputation? What would his friends think, his parents, even? Of course, this was worse from his perspective. He was probably here to buy her off, to shut her up. Hermione laughed unpleasantly at the notion.

“Like I said, I cannot afford to waste any more time with you, Malfoy, so just…go away! Believe me, I’m just as put out by what happened yesterday as you are, and I like to -”

“My only problem with yesterday was that we were interrupted,” he rushed out, taking one step closer. His breath shuddered, and she swallowed hers down, waiting. “And, my behavior, before. I don’t…”

His step faltered and he rocked back on his heels, hesitant and unsure. “I don’t know what to do,” he finally finished.

“I told you already,” Hermione insisted. She folded her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin defiantly. She refused to let him see her put out, because she wasn’t. No, not one bit. “None of this matters; it was all just a-a fling, a mistake. No one needs to know.” _Malfoy and the Mudblood!_ replayed in her head and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing to block it out. “Actually, I’m sure it’s all over the castle by now, but luckily enough, there are so few who stayed behind, none of our friends are likely to ever know.” Even she didn’t believe her words.

“I’m not talking about Peeves,” he countered dismissively. “I’m talking about _us_ , and -”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Malfoy.” She tried to march past him, but he blocked her, stooping to look up into her downcast eyes.

“There’s something you should know.” Draco stood up straight, watching her face, her eyes the entire time, measuring if she’d listen. He sighed and relaxed marginally before telling his story.

“I’ve always had everything I could ever want, coming from such a prestigious line of pure bloods,” he started, and Hermione had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. This was definitely not a story she wanted to hear, but she did him the courtesy of listening. “But it comes at a price. My father’s incarcerated, and it’s partly your fault.”

Instantly she began to protest, but his raised hand momentarily suppressed her. “And because of that, things have had to change. I’ve had to become the lord of the manor, so to speak. My mother…”

For the first time, he looked past Hermione, out towards the cliffs. She thought about telling him the answers weren’t out there, but didn’t. “My parents have … expectations for me, things I’ve been groomed to do since I was born. Now, all of that is in jeopardy.”

It irritated her, knowing that blood status would keep them apart. Hermione blinked. What was she thinking? She didn’t want Draco Malfoy! It was Ron she wanted, Ron whom she loved, not this bigoted bully before her. He was mean and insidious and entirely too uppity for her to even consider being with. Of course, none of this was new information, yet it didn’t stop her from becoming more intimate than was wise, did it?

“There’s no need to rub it in, Malfoy,” she muttered, taking a step or two towards the castle. “I know all too well how _beneath you_ I am, and that you can’t risk any further -”

Draco surged forward, reaching her before she could stop him, and clung to her tightly. Her breath flew out of her chest, whether from the impact or disbelief, she wasn’t sure, and refilled with a mixture of the cold snow and the scent of his body. He felt warm wrapped around her, and smelled like strong tea and sweat.

She started to struggle and he restrained her. “Wait, please,” he whispered. “Nothing’s coming out right, and I have to talk to you. You must listen to me.”

Hermione nodded her head, not knowing what else to do.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his hot breath trembled in the shell of her ear. She felt an urge to wipe it dry, but couldn’t. His breathing became erratic and she believed he was having a panic attack. “About yesterday, the things I said. Don’t know why I did. I know you’re not a whore, Hermione.”

A little zing ran through her, and she felt ridiculous for feeling it.

“Everything’s turned around. Don’t know what’s wrong with me. I need your help, Hermione,” he brokenly whispered. “I can’t do this alone. You have to help me!”

Hesitantly, her arms wrapped around his back, uncertain how to handle an undone Malfoy. It wasn’t very often she was wrong about anything. Perhaps her first assumption was correct: he was trying to change. That would account for his odd behavior of late, his unkempt appearance. Not to mention this dalliance, she bitterly thought. Or was all of this just a prank? It was too much, that was certain, for her to take in.

She decided to trust her earlier instincts. “It’s all right, now. Just breathe, Draco, breathe.” She felt his body rise and fall against hers. She exaggerated her breathing until he mimicked hers and seemed to calm down. Her hand idly circled his back, patting now and again in a comforting gesture. He relaxed in her arms, and she noticed that she, too, had been soothed.

Hermione pulled back and he let her go. Holding his hand, she motioned for him to come with her. When he asked where they were headed, she answered, “To see Professor McGonagall, of course.”

Draco stopped short, jerking her back a bit. “No, I won’t go. She can’t help me. Only you can.”

Hermione smirked, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m sure she’ll be much better help than I could be.”

“Absolutely not, Granger,” he said in a clipped tone. He adamantly refused, and she scowled at him.

“What was all this, then?” she shot back angrily. “More games? I don’t understand, Draco!”

“She can’t know!”

“I’m sure she already does – they all do!”

“No, they couldn’t! You’re not listening to me!”

“That’s because you’ve lost your mind!” Her voice echoed through the covered bridge, bouncing back to slap her in the face. She was ashamed of herself in that moment. Yes, he had been acting like a madman, but that was no excuse to call him one, was it?

He looked at her, hurt and confusion on his face, and something like panic returning as well. She’d had enough and she said as much.

“This has to stop! I can’t – I can’t _do_ this with you. You’re obviously confused, and I don’t know what I was thinking. First you tell me you want help, and then absolutely refuse it when I offer. I don’t know what you want! What do you want from me, Draco?” she huffed, stomping out her frustration. “You’re not just a bully, but a coward, _Malfoy_ , and I must have been mad to ever think otherwise.” His hatred of everything Muggle, and of Hermione in particular, left her unable to fathom why he was even talking to her now. Why demand help from the one person he hated almost as much as Harry Potter on principle alone? Why would he do any of the things they’d done this past week? It had to be some twisted joke. He was probably laughing at her now. It made her feel absolutely wretched when she thought about it.

“Forget it, I can’t. I just…can’t.”

Hermione thanked whatever deity was looking out for her that Malfoy did not try to stop her when she ran away.

+++

Dinner in the Great Hall was a small affair, thankfully. For the most part, students ate at their regular house tables, but there were a few, here and there, sitting with friends in other houses. At her own table, only a couple from her year were sitting nearby. Although she did not normally fraternize with them, she would not forfeit the opportunity to socialize with anyone willing to look past her dirty blood tonight. She’d wasted too much time on hopeless cases lately, but unfortunately, conversation was limited.

Along the High Table sat most of her instructors except for Dumbledore. She wondered when he would return. Harry had told her and Ron about his private meetings with the Headmaster, and she couldn’t hold back her curiosity and jealousy.

Without meaning to, she looked over towards the Slytherin table. Even fewer of them were present than the other three houses. Despite having most of her meals in this room with these fellow students for nearly two weeks now, the idea of how lonely it must be being a Slytherin at Christmas only now occurred to her.

She thought about Draco. He wasn’t at dinner and she tried to not wonder where he could be.

As she shoved her food around her plate, she recalled the taste of his kisses, how much they reminded her of gingerbread cookies and tea. Hermione sighed. What kind of friend was she, anyway? Didn’t Dumbledore want them to all get along with the other houses? _Surely, he didn’t mean by shagging each other rotten_. Still, she couldn’t take her mind off of Draco.

Pushing her food aside, Hermione decided to go to bed early. This day had been one of the worst she could recall, and that was saying something. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would clear her mind. There was still some time before everyone returned to their lessons. She could still catch up with her revision schedule and be all set for the next term. Cheered a little by the idea, she said good night to her housemates and made her way out of the Great Hall, unvexed and completely unaware that she was being followed.

Draco followed her all the way up to the seventh floor before he acted upon his plan. She didn’t understand, no matter how many times she claimed otherwise. He had to explain it. He had to show her the cabinet, and then everything would work out better than he’d hoped. It wasn’t too late.

He seized her around the waist, lifting her off the floor and slapping his palm over her open mouth. She screamed anyway. Hermione was stronger than she looked, he discovered the hard way, as she kicked and bit and caused such a ruckus that he was certain they’d be discovered before he could calm her down. He hissed in her ear, “Stop it, or you’ll regret it.”

Her muffled words could have been his name or something far nastier. Either way, it didn’t matter; she knew it was him. Softly, he set her feet back on the floor, and removed his hand from her mouth. He checked to see if she’d broken the skin when she’d bit him, and missed her stomping foot coming down on his. Draco growled through his teeth with pain.

“You’ve always been a foul git, Malfoy! That’s twice you’ve drug me off in as many weeks. It’s becoming a habit with you,” she warned, irritated but quieter.

“Stupid bitch,” he muttered. “You could have damaged me.”

“I wish I had!”

Draco looked up sharply before he pursued her again. All she could manage was a hand to her wand as he grabbed her shoulders and roughly shoved her against the nearest wall. She was a good four inches shorter than he, which made his menacing much easier, he found. But he lost control quickly. Draco clenched her, ignoring her quick intake of breath. He was trembling more than she was, and he was certain she noticed.

He kissed her, fast and hard. At first she resisted, struggling in his arms, pushing her head back further down the wall to escape, but then she gave in. He kissed her slowly, putting everything he couldn’t say before into it, hoping she might finally understand him. Draco pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were heavy, shuttered; her mouth was lax and full, inviting him back. She was almost panting, and he knew he was, too. This was it, the last chance. Everything would change in the next moment. Draco closed his eyes and kissed her again, wishing he could prolong it indefinitely until there was nothing left of either of them except their kiss.

Desperate for air, he broke away, nuzzling the underside of her jaw. Her fingers wound around the nape of his neck, pressing him further into her. If this wasn’t real, if she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her, then nothing he told her would matter after all.

But if this _was_ real, then he could do it. He could fix the cabinet, save his family and also get the girl. It was beyond what he’d hoped for. But it would have to wait. Now they had to go, while she was willing to listen. He had to confess everything to her, and she’d put everything back in order, and they could proceed.

“Hermione, come with me, now.” He punctuated each word with a kiss along her jaw. Her body was so loose, so warm, that it was rather difficult to untangle herself. “Come on,” he growled in her ear, dragging her down the corridor towards the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his troupe of dancing trolls. A lead weight filled Hermione’s belly when he dropped her hand; she knew where they were headed. How Draco managed to figure out the way into the Room of Requirement, she could only wonder. She blushed, imagining what he might be asking of the room. She knew she ought to say no, but she was tired of fighting.

After a brief moment, he reached for her once more and in they went.

The room was very different from what she recalled. Instead of seeing bookcases lining the walls, and cushions scattered about on the floor, they were surrounded by towers of broken furniture, of knickknacks, odds and ends, cages with contents she’d rather not see or ever think about again. And the room went on forever, mounds of random items, some blackened and shattered, others glittering in the candle light floating high above them. Suddenly, she was quite claustrophobic.

Draco paid no attention to any of the bizarre things they passed as he lead her through the cramped passage on towards the center of the room. Here he let her go. Before them loomed a dark cabinet, which was somehow familiar to Hermione.

In a rush, Draco began explaining what it was, and what he wanted from her. The more he spoke, the more her heart turned icy. All previous thoughts were gone, replaced by dread and heartbreak.

Harry was right about Malfoy, all this time.

“This is,” her voice faltered, and she started over. “This is where you’ve been going, all this time, working on this cabinet? Why, Draco?” Honestly, she didn’t want to know. She could guess well enough, but she had to hear him say it, or rather deny it. She desperately wanted to hear him deny what she feared was true.

She stared, noticing that her fear seemed to be mirrored on his face. He was tired and worn, but he also was frightened. Things began to fall into place in that moment. Before he could utter a single word, she gasped, both hands covering her mouth. “Oh, my God. What have you done?”

Draco undid his cuff, jerking the sleeve up to reveal a black mark on his pale skin. Hermione didn’t know who began crying first as he explained. “I have no choice, Hermione. He’s got my parents and if I don’t - if I fail - he’s going to kill us. I told you, earlier, on the bridge…You don’t even know the worst of it…”

Shakily she wiped at her face. “Everything, all of this…it was all about the Liquid Luck, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?” she yelled, watching him cringe back against the dark cabinet. He wouldn’t look her in the eye now.

“It’s broken. I have to fix it,” he muttered. “I need you in order to fix it.”

“You’ve been buttering me up just to get the damned potion that I _told you_ I don’t have! My God, I’m such an idiot. For days now, when we…and you,” she looked at him, shaking her head as nausea threatened to overtake her. “I should have known it was never about me, just what I could get for you. And I fell for it, all of it, like a _stupid_ …

“No,” he stepped forward, his hands outstretched in supplication. Hermione quickly drew her wand, aiming it steadily despite her frustration and tears. He stopped, staring at her imploringly. “Yes, at first,” he admitted. “But then I knew I just had to get _you_ to make it work.”

She balked at him. “Are you mad? I would never help you fix this -” she cut herself off mid-thought as more pieces fit together. It wasn’t just the Felix; it was everything, the last several days, beginning with the odd behavior and asking about Reparo. She’d been had. Her stomach began to lurch and twist, saliva pooled in her mouth. She was going to be sick.

“Don’t you see, Hermione? I needed you to make it work, your natural luck. You’re the only one who can help me.”

He continued on frantically, but Hermione tuned him out. She had to stop this, to stop him. She had to tell somebody. There was no time to be hurt or sick or even angry. McGonagall. She had to tell McGonagall, right away. When she made a move back the way they’d come, he grabbed her by the arm.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get some help. You can’t do this Malfoy, I can’t let you! You have no idea the danger you’re in.” _Me as well, not that you care._

“But you’re supposed to help me. You _said_ you’d help me,” he pleaded, his face crumbling up, turning red. Her heart ached.

“You betrayed me! I’ve been such a fool, to believe you for even one second! I honestly thought you had changed, Malfoy, that you liked me, but I was wrong. Get away from me! Let me go! _I hate you, Draco _!” she shouted, causing several precariously balanced items to tremble. He withdrew from her, a look of abject desolation appearing on his face. Hermione didn’t know if she should laugh or cry, so she screamed instead. Around them, dust rained down, along with a river of silk that had been draped over a monstrous bust.__

 _She was feeling lightheaded and desperately wanted to sit down, to get out of this room, to never see Draco sodding Malfoy ever again. Harry had been right; Draco was a Death Eater and up to no good, and she refused to listen, to see any of it. But it wasn’t too late._

 _After the echo of her voice faded away, Draco took several deep breaths, attempting to steady himself. Why wouldn’t she understand? His life depended on this, and she didn’t bloody care, not one bit! Typical, he thought, of a Gryffindor to abandon him when he needed her most. In his chest he could feel the panic rising. How could she possibly be told the other part of his mission now? She already hated him – could it be any worse?_

 _Yes, because she was determined to turn him in, right now. Well, that he couldn’t have. If she wouldn’t be reasonable…_

 _“Stop right there, Granger,” he said calmly, withdrawing his wand and aiming it with a steadier hand than he thought possible. Immediately she froze, half turned from him. Grim determination replaced the horror he’d seen there before. “You are going to help me. Now.”_

 _One hundred questions bounced in her eyes. He watched as a tear slid down her check, his heart dropping just as slowly. “All right, I’ll help you.” He sighed with relief, his wand dropping a little. She reached towards him. “Come with me, Draco.”_

 _Draco blinked. Come with her? Where? This is where they needed to be, here, fixing the Vanishing cabinet. If only he’d thought of forcing her up here sooner, they could have been done with the bloody thing ages ago and could have resumed their more worthwhile activities. Apparently, his confusion was evident, as she chose to explain without being asked._

 _“Let’s get some help, Draco, please,” she said soothingly. Who exactly did she think would help them, help _him_? In rapid succession, she mentioned first McGonagall then Dumbledore, of all people. She didn’t understand at all. When he shook his head, he saw her gentle coaxing collapse._

She turned her back on him. That was when he stopped thinking.

Draco’s wand erupted in a multitude of colors as he tried to stop her. She was quick enough, dodging and shooting back, her voice high and reedy as she cast over the sounds of the dislodged items exploding between them.

Minutes passed. She was good. Better than he expected, and much better than he was, which was not good. In the back of his mind, he noticed that neither of them was aiming directly at the other. A week ago, he would have had no qualms about knocking the girl flat on her back and leaving her for others to find, however now … Now was different.

He cursed Hermione Granger for bewitching him like this, his anger surfacing as he thrust his wand viciously, causing an eruption deep within the nearest precarious tower. He watched, horrified, as the mountain of rubbish collapsed directly onto her. She didn’t see it coming.

Heart racing, he scurried over to the mound that covered her, frantically yanking and throwing junk every which way, digging her out. Under his breath, he began a mantra: _Oh Merlin, please, she must be, she can’t be, oh please, I have to find her… Hermione._ At last, he gained sight of her, still in one piece, but bleeding and unconscious.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, carefully lifting her out. He cradled her in his arms, repeating how sorry he was, and begging her to wake up. Draco cast Ennervate, but still she didn’t wake. His panic was so great that his vision blurred. Or at least he believed it to be panic, rather than the unmanly tears which ran down his face as he rocked Hermione side to side.

He kissed her slack mouth, her heated, bloodied cheeks, murmuring to her. Draco laughed humorlessly. Even unconscious, she was too stubborn to do as he asked.

She needed help, fast. There was only one place they could go.

+++

Seconds before she was fully awake, Hermione knew she was going to be sick, and she was. Luckily, there was a ready bin propped up next to her. The voices of two women, concerned yet soothing approached her bed. Professor McGonagall was standing a short distance behind Madam Pomfrey, who vanished Hermione’s mess. What was happening?

Her Head of House practically interrogated Hermione on how she’d come to be bruised, bloody, and unconscious outside the hospital wing. Hermione had no idea what she was talking about. She tried desperately to recall what McGonagall wanted to know, but the only thing she could remember was seeing Harry off for the holiday break. There was nothing else. McGonagall gave her a strange, distrustful glare before accepting her story. For now, at least.

It worried Hermione, not knowing what had happened to her, and so she pestered Madam Pomfrey incessantly for anything the healer might have that could reverse any spell damage on her, despite the older witch’s assurance that she’d done all she could for her. It was rather disturbing, Pomfrey agreed, but nothing chocolate and a good bit of rest couldn’t resolve.

The following morning, which happened to be the first day of the New Year, she left the hospital wing with nothing more than a few bruises, which would heal with time, and an ever-growing worry. Something, or _someone_ , had cursed her, she felt certain of it. But why? What could she have possibly done to someone here at Hogwarts to deserve this?

She was so distracted by the mystery that she walked smack into someone down the corridor. Before she could apologize, Draco Malfoy barked out, “Watch it, Granger,” without even stopping.

There was a mild pulling sensation deep in her belly. Unconsciously she touched her mouth, feeling as though she ought to remember something, something important.

Malfoy was always so rude. She narrowed her eyes at his retreating back, thinking how immature and obnoxious he was.

Hermione missed it when Draco turned back to watch her walk away.


End file.
